Some two months after he had left Madame Vauthier’s lodgings he turned his steps when out for a walk towards the boulevard du Mont-Parnasse, where he came upon the widow herself, and asked for news of the Bernard family.

“Just as if I knew what has become of them!” she replied.  “Two days after your departure—­for it was you, slyboots, who got the affair away from my proprietor—­some men came here and rid me of that arrogant old fool and all his belongings.  Bless me! if they didn’t move everything out within twenty-four hours; and as close as wax they were too; not a word would they say to me.  I think he went off to Algiers with his rogue of a grandson; for Nepomucene, who had a fancy for that young thief, being no better himself, couldn’t find him at the Conciergerie.  I dare say Nepomucene knows where he is, though, for he, too, has run away.  That’s what it is to bring up foundlings! that’s how they reward you for all your trouble, leaving you in the lurch!  I haven’t yet been able to get a man in his place, and as the quarter is looking up the house is full, and I am worked to death.”

Godefroid would never have known more about Baron Bourlac and his family if it had not been for one of those chance encounters such as often happens in Paris.

In the month of September he was walking down the great avenue of the Champs Elysees, thinking, as he passed the end of the rue Marbeuf, of Dr. Halpersohn.

“I might,” thought he, “go and see him and ask if he ever cured Bourlac’s daughter.  What a voice, what immense talents she had!—­and she wanted to consecrate herself to God!”

When he reached the Rond-point Godefroid crossed it quickly, on account of the many carriages that were passing rapidly.  As he reached the other side in haste he knocked against a young man with a lady on his arm.

“Take care!” said the young man; “are you blind?”

“Hey! is it you?” cried Godefroid, recognizing Auguste de Mergi.

Auguste was so well-dressed, and looked so dandified and handsome and so proud of giving his arm to a pretty woman, that if it had not been for the youth’s voice and the memories that were just then in his own mind he might not have recognized him.

“Oh! it is our dear Monsieur Godefroid!” said the lady.

Hearing those words in the celestial notes of Vanda’s enchanting voice, Godefroid stopped short on the spot where he stood.

“Cured!” he exclaimed.

“For the last ten days he has allowed me to walk out,” she replied.

“Who?  Halpersohn?”

“Yes,” she said.  “Why have you not been to see us?  Perhaps it was well you didn’t;” she added; “my hair came off; this that you see is a wig; but the doctor assures me it will grow again.  Oh! how many things we have to tell each other!  Come and dine with us.  Oh! your accordion! oh! monsieur,”—­she put her handkerchief to her eyes.

“I shall keep it all my life,” she went on, “and my son will preserve it as a relic after me.  My father has searched all Paris for you.  And he is also in search of his unknown benefactors; he will grieve himself to death if you do not help him to discover them.  Poor father! he is gnawed by a melancholy I cannot always get the better of.”